Paper Moon
by ncfan
Summary: What she had set in motion could not be reversed. Somehow, she had gone from being an inconvenient speck on the edge of his existence to a presence he did not know how to ignore. And in truth, he did not want to ignore her. Ulquiorra x Orihime.


**Characters**: Ulquiorra, Orihime.**  
Pairings**: UlquiHime, as with _Kage no Tsuki_, sort of**  
Warnings/Spoilers**: Spoilers for the Hueco Mundo arc abound.**  
Timeline**: Hueco Mundo arc.**  
Author's Note**: This serves as a companion to _Kage no Tsuki._ While not as long nor quite as in-depth a psychological piece as _Kage no Tsuki, _nevertheless I hope you like it.**  
Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

The night was ever dark, a painting of pure black ink. It was darkness incarnate, even with the shining moon, the deepest, densest night present on any world, at any time. Night on Hueco Mundo was a dark canvas, but for the first time, Ulquiorra noticed the stars, small pinpricks of light twinkling remotely in the distance, beacons of light to travelers lost in the desert wastes. Cracks in the black façade with the light shining through, the con of Hueco Mundo.

She was staring out the window again.

Half of the time, Orihime behaved as though the window wasn't there, and in the other half, she stood with her back turned against him (Ulquiorra frowned slightly at the fact that she did not think twice about turning her back to him when he could so easily step up, place his hand around her pale, delicate throat and squeeze until there was no more breath left in her), caught in silent contemplation of what lied beyond the bars on that window. When she seemed to be under the impression that there was no window, Orihime appeared to forget that there had ever been a window, or that she had spent so many hours staring raptly out of it. She simply paced the room like it was a cage and she a trapped lioness, rarely noticing Ulquiorra's quiet presence until several minutes after he had pulled the heavy outer doors shut behind him.

Ulquiorra had been ordered to serve as Inoue Orihime's prison warden. Nothing more, nothing less. Aizen requested that he keep her alive and relatively sound, but other than that, Ulquiorra was to be left to his own devices, to treat her as he saw fit. Having no intention of failing in his duty, Ulquiorra would not see her fall to physical harm; beyond that, he did not care. Her body was sanctified, but her mind was fair game, and Ulquiorra, no liar, expressed a professional curiosity when it came to the mentality and motivations of those strange humans who sought to combat the might of Hueco Mundo.

In the grand scheme of things, she was unimportant. Aizen wanted the girl for a purpose regarding the Hougyoku that Ulquiorra didn't entirely comprehend. Most in Hueco Mundo, Ulquiorra included, suspected that there was more to what Aizen wanted Orihime to do then just manipulate the Hougyoku, but Aizen kept his own council, and slowly, over time, it was made clear, however falsely, that the young girl was nothing more than a useful prisoner of war.

Therefore, as the level of importance Orihime held grew less significant, Ulquiorra could be given more leeway, like the dam of a great river letting out only a trickle at first and slowly, over time, increasing the amount of water that could be loosed.

She wasn't pacing anymore, just sitting, legs folded under her, on the floor, her back turned to him, the tips of her long, light auburn hair brushing the stone floor. Orihime contemplated the crescent moon, frail and fragile as rice paper; whether she was aware of Ulquiorra's presence or not he did not know.

But he was about to make her aware of his presence.

"Do you find the shadows cast from the window so very absorbing?"

Ulquiorra's quiet, slightly raspy voice made Orihime jump like a startled cat that had been snuck up upon. In one quick, fluid movement, she was on her feet and facing him, biting her lip with her arms folded behind her back. Her brown eyes were open wide, flicking back and forth. She was on edge, ill at ease with her new surroundings, and very, very much aware of the potential threat Ulquiorra posed her.

Orihime breathed in very deeply before giving her response. Only, there was no response.

Ulquiorra frowned, the movement barely perceptible, as she remained silent, brown eyes meeting green steadily, without turning away, blinking over-rapidly or showing any sign of nervousness.

There was no doubt in Ulquiorra's mind that Orihime was nervous. She had displayed signs of that before, and such visceral reactions did not tend to change in nature over such a short period of time, and there was something Ulquiorra suspected, that she was not the sort to change so easily.

She was not giving away her nervousness, but she was truly as tense as someone who was waiting for a blade to be pulled on them, and that could not be hidden. Orihime stood erect and stiff-backed, uneasy in the solitude of the sterile whiteness of the room, unhappy in the silence. Her face was pale but unbroken.

"A meal will be served within the next hour," Ulquiorra said finally, after a few tense moments of eye contact. His voice remained, as ever, calm, and quiet, an even, composed note. "Do you understand?"

Orihime nodded, betraying no amount of surprise. "Yes, I understand," she murmured softly. Ulquiorra found it confounding that she continued not to betray herself, and wondered where she had gained the fortitude he saw now, when she had been so different merely hours before.

Hours before, when Ulquiorra had incapacitated the girl's paltry escort, Orihime had been plainly frightened. The fear in her eyes had been evident and spoke for itself, a deep, gnawing infection. Where was that fear now? She was not afraid of him anymore.

That fear was gone, and Ulquiorra felt the absence of it like a sharp edge piercing the Hierro of his skin. And Ulquiorra, being admittedly curious, was very interested in discovering where all of Orihime's fear had gone.

.x.X.x.

Orihime's silence was strangely deafening, somehow resounding. There was a statement hidden in that silence, and Ulquiorra did not speak the language emanating from the paling contours of her face, so he had no way of knowing what she was telling him or if she was speaking to him at all.

At first, Ulquiorra was content to remain silent.

It was the room again, white, sterile and slightly chilly, but not enough to cause complaint in the occupant. There was no noise except what they made, and, as ever, Ulquiorra was taciturn, and Orihime receding into herself strangely, less inclined to talk than Ulquiorra suspected she had ever been.

Her pallor had become waxen, Ulquiorra noticed, as she sat on the couch, hands resting on her knees as she adjusted into the new clothes that had been provided her, starched, stiff white linen pressing hard against the lines of her slight body. Orihime's brown eyes drooped slightly, their light growing dull. Shadows from lack of sleep made purple marks not unlike the effects of cosmetics, but different enough that they were the clear signs of stress and worry, of some dark, niggling emotion that gnawed at her and wore her down.

But where it was, Ulquiorra did not know, because Orihime would not say, and would not reveal the source or the extent of this sensation.

For a few moments, Ulquiorra believed that she remained unaware of his presence, as it was last time. Her eyes were not fixed, glazed and abstracted, on the window (she must have been under the impression that there was no window again) but instead, Orihime rested her gaze on her limp, motionless hands, as if the pattern of her skin was the most fascinating thing in the room, and indeed, the colors of Orihime's hair, skin and eyes were typically the only colors that she would see that was not a stark white or, in rare cases, a deep ebony black.

He had thought her oblivious, but then, Orihime lifted her eyes to face him, not sunken but strangely appearing as though they stared out of deep holes, and stood, white linen rustling disturbingly. "Was there something you wanted?" she asked softly. Ulquiorra had also noticed that her voice had also been coming out less topsy-turvy than before, less emotional, more apathetic.

_Like my own, _Ulquiorra momentarily noticed, before submerging the nagging thought and forgetting it.

"No," Ulquiorra half-whispered, and was struck by dull surprise when he realized it was the truth. He had no reason to be there, no report to give or queries to make.

A spark of trouble hit him, and, still strangely troubled, Ulquiorra swept out of the room, quiet and not bothering to give an explanation for why he was leaving—not that he ever did. He paused momentarily in the doorway, considered looking back into confused brown eyes, and did not. There was no need. Ulquiorra already knew what he would see if he turned around.

.x.X.x.

It was late at night. The halls were dark, uninhabited; Hueco Mundo was so meticulously clean that not even the approximation of a rat or arachnid could be found darting away from meager light sources, weak creatures stealing away from the light.

His fingertips were lightly brushing the stone door almost before Ulquiorra realized that he had risen, stole away from his quarters and made the short journey down halls and flights of stairs, to the room where his prisoner dwelt.

Reality returned to him, and Ulquiorra stared up at the door and around the halls. He had had the distinct impression of eyes staring down the back of his neck. Of course, it could have just been Ichimaru Gin haunting the passageways of Hueco Mundo, wandering aimlessly, as he tended to do, especially in the latest hours of the night.

Ulquiorra swept his eyes around the silent, faintly musty halls. No rustle of bleached linen nor flash of white hair met his gaze; Ichimaru Gin was nowhere in sight, and not haunting his steps as he had faintly suspected.

No longer concerned about Aizen's closest subordinate, Ulquiorra refocused his attention on the stone door that separated him from the familiar sound of Orihime's low, faintly strained breathing. It was an impermeable barrier, solid against the feel of his hand, and it brought him back to cold, hard actuality.

He had no reason to be there this time, either.

For a moment, Ulquiorra did nothing, and listened to the silence, trying to discern if any voices would rise from the deep and guide him either way.

There was nothing, and Ulquiorra thought better of what he was doing and left, as quickly as he had come, without looking back.

The urge remained with him throughout the night, and all there was for Ulquiorra to do was trace the patterns cast by shadows on the ceiling of his room.

.x.X.x.

"Your friends will not succeed in securing your escape. They will not survive long enough to bring you away from this place."

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she showed sign of tenseness. It was a state that washed over her, something Ulquiorra was used to seeing as Orihime stiffened, her back to him as her fingers clawed against the plaster wall.

Ever since coming to Hueco Mundo, Orihime had been changing. She was drooping like a wilting plant, draining like a waning moon, shriveling like wet paper. Orihime was…for lack of a better term, receding into herself, erecting walls faster than Ulquiorra could brutally tear them down. And as this happened, her face became more and more waxen, alabaster pale and lifeless.

Orihime did not seem to hear him. Upon closer inspection, Ulquiorra realized that she wasn't really clawing at the wall at all. The human girl was drawing her slender fingers across the wall persistently, her wide, glazed eyes flicking up and down like she was at important work. Then again, Ulquiorra supposed that she could have finally lost her mind while he wasn't looking.

"Girl." Ulquiorra put a hand heavy as lead to her slight, sloping shoulder, and Orihime gasped slightly, having clearly been unaware that Ulquiorra was standing right beside her. She jumped and turned to face him, blinking weariness away and, for some reason, seeming almost as though she had just come out of swimming a great body of water.

"What?" she breathed, uncharacteristically impolite, though it was more to do with the state of distraction she had fallen into than any intentional malice. Ulquiorra had observed the girl long enough to know that directed malice was simply not part of her character.

Ulquiorra's black-rimmed, vivid green eyes narrowed as he scanned her face. They held eye contact for a moment, his grip on her shoulder never loosening, before Orihime lost her nerve and had to look away, her gaze falling to the ground. "You are afraid now, are you not?"

As Ulquiorra recalled, he and Orihime had had a very similar conversation before. And it would follow the same vein, but with different content and, hopefully, less resistance from his young captive.

"Your friends have come for you," Ulquiorra told her softly, "but they will not succeed. They will all fall, and die one by one, long before they ever reach this place."

In response, Orihime drew up a strange smile, something unfathomable to Ulquiorra because he could not recognize the quality of the emotions hidden in her twisted, shaking lips. "You don't know that," Orihime whispered. "They will succeed. I know they will."

Ulquiorra ultimately had two orders to carry out. One, that he was to see that Orihime came to no harm, and two, that he was to make sure that she did not escape Hueco Mundo. "My orders, as given by Aizen-sama, are to see that you do not escape, no matter what the situation." Ulquiorra decided it wasn't worth telling her what Aizen's other order had been. "As for the humans and Shinigami who have come for you, I will kill them myself if it comes to that."

And for the first time, a brief flash of fear passed momentarily over Orihime's face, before disappearing like a bird that had flown the coop, and Ulquiorra could not find it again. "I am not afraid of you," Orihime muttered through gritted teeth, her voice shaking.

Ulquiorra wondered if Orihime would change her opinion were she to see the extent of his abilities. And then he wondered why the internal debate of whether or not she feared him had consumed him to such lengths.

.x.X.x.

It was night again, only about an hour after their previous conversation. The shadows descended over the walls of the cell and pooled on the floor, before growing back up like insubstantial trees, stretching shadowing branches over everything in their paths.

As Ulquiorra knelt beside the couch, he could see that Orihime was asleep. She did not sleep well, he had noticed over the past few days. At least she didn't sleep well in Hueco Mundo. Her face relaxed and slackened somewhat in sleep, but the occasional ripples disturbed the calm. Brown eyes were closed, and the eyelids were stained a deep bluish-purple, almost as if from makeup. One small hand hung off the couch, and her long, light auburn hair obscured her face slightly, and fell off the couch to almost hit the floor.

This time, Ulquiorra did not cast his eyes over both shoulders to see if Ichimaru Gin had followed him. He knew that he was alone.

His pale hand itched, and Ulquiorra considered killing her. It would be so easy, especially when she was asleep. All it would take was to stretch out his hand, wrap it around her white throat and squeeze. He could crush her neck and delicate vertebrae in an instant, and Orihime would never wake up again.

Ulquiorra was willing to face Aizen's wrath, for she had become a thorn in his side. He did not fear Aizen any more than he feared the rat that fled from his approach when he came down a dark hall.

But then, Ulquiorra wasn't even sure why he wanted to kill her at all. Something in him that he had no way of recognizing jerked insistently when he thought of the girl, and he knew that the only way to quiet it would be to end Orihime's life, and cease the rhythm of her breathing, the sound that resounded in his ears.

Ulquiorra stretched out his hand, in the direction of her throat…

…And stopped.

There had been fear in her eyes, but not of him. Ulquiorra could respect that, as much as he could respect anything.

Silent as the shadows that grew incessantly in the room, Ulquiorra stood, and swept out of the room, leaving Orihime's slumber undisturbed.

Inoue Orihime was not afraid of him, and for that reason alone, Ulquiorra would allow her to live.


End file.
